#skyword sword link x reader

[neverchecking]

A fall from Grace

Okay, so, i have made more friends. They have, in fact, influenced this. So here's a list of people to blame.

@angry-trashcan

@cloudninetonine

@desires-of-chain

@fanfic-fairy-fountain (you get to be included)

@wayfayrr (so do you <3)

Can be seen as a continuation of this, but I did not write it with that in mind. Happy accident. I can't promise a lot of writing bc Uni is just starting so I'm busy with that, but hopefully this feeds yall

Yellow was an ugly color. 

Hideous in the way it fell in stands around a porcelain face, caging eyes of pure sapphire with bands of white. White was meant to be a color of purity. A color to signify the untainted innocence of an unsullied soul. Touched by what was once believed to be pure divinity in and of itself, now revealed to be something much more sinister. 

Something with a gnarled grin, pinched by indented dimples and pearly whites revealed by pulled back lips painted a pretty pink. With eyes that shined in the sunlight like it was the great star’s only purpose to highlight those saccharine irises only to shadow over in the dark of night, hidden beneath the cloak of the twinkling stars, free to do as she pleased. Although, that was the humor in it all. It didn’t matter whether the dark of night was hiding her actions, repainting a saint over the real image of a sinner chained to their fall from grace, because the heavens sang her praises in a choir so loud it had deafened them all. Angels had preached her hymns to the point their ears rang with her acclaims and the skies thundered their applause for her. It seemed everything was built for her to toss or cherish as she so pleased. 

It made his stomach roll in a putrid anger that destroyed his senses, leaving him to act irrationally. He had been so blind. Content to follow like a blind puppy would follow the first person to drop them a scrap of leftover rubbish. 

But no longer would he be the one to write the very prophecies that proclaimed her a savior. A goddess fallen from whatever holy land she was born from to grace her people with her very presence. No longer would he be chained to sing the praises of an angel who plucked the feathers that lined her wings from the ones she damned to fall. 

He had been saved. 

Hands that knew nothing but boundless humility and grace had cupped his cheeks in an effort to shield him from the wrongdoings of the world around him. Skin that had not been blemished by a drop of bloodshed sheened in sweat underneath of him, imprinting their own unique mark on his own skin. Layer the scars that once laid there in new lines of red and white. Badges of honor bestowed upon him by a phoenix bred from the ashes of the damned fallen before them. Like an icarus who had heed the warning and rose to the heavens the way intended for them. Who held their wings of wax with bleeding palms until flesh and muscle did it for them. Until a halo of light was dipped into the golden rivers of luster and bestowed unto them on a velvet pillow proclaiming their ethereal welcoming into the place only murmured about in ancient texts. 

They had held him dearly while freeing the blindfold from it’s place cemented by a generation far older than him. Wound the satin curtains of crimson hooked around his face like blinders around a stake and watched glorious flames lick up the edges in a show of reds, yellows and blues, letting it burn in name of their glorious title. 

Sky had fallen before. He had fallen from Skyloft and it had freed him in a way that was unexplainable until far later into his journey. He had originally believed that fall to be the one to shatter the shackles around his wrists and allow him to fully experience everything his world had to offer. Looking back, that was not the fall he had needed to truly free himself. No, that wouldn’t come until much later. Until he had met his sword brothers. Until he had met you. Until he had let your aura engulf his being and lull his busy soul to a steady slumber. 

He hadn’t known true peace until meeting you. Not until you gifted it to him, cupped in gentle hands and shielded by your radiant smile. One that didn’t need the heavens to enhance it as it was already pure perfection. One that was only amplified by echoing bells of your laughter that spelled out your joy for all those around you. 

He wasn’t convinced you quite knew what you had done to him. How you had positively eradicated any hope he had of going back to normal after this was all said and done, because there was no normal without you. There was no way he could go back to that fraud clad in robes meant for your frame alone. There was no way he could hold back the rage that would boil his insides and ignite a fury filled inferno so powerful it would leave the rest of Skyloft balking at the devastation left behind. 

Because he was nothing without you. He was a loyal follower devoted to your significance. Nothing else. He wouldn’t let himself be disgraced in such a way ever again. 

Because yellow was an ugly color. 

But gold? Gold was something rich and divine, elegant. Something that, when graced upon your figure lit up the room like you were doused in holy light yourself.  Something that when laid upon your collarbone in fine chain links curved perfectly into the dip of the bone. 

Something that, when wrapped around your finger in a pretty little ring of gold, reminded him that he was nothing more than a worshiper of your gospel. 

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